


Start Anew

by WolfVenom



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Drabble, Fire, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Memory Loss, Sad Ending, Short, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfVenom/pseuds/WolfVenom
Summary: It was one mistake. It cost them one of their own.





	Start Anew

**Author's Note:**

> #21 "You were never one of us."
> 
> Thank u dear!   
> Not beta'd.

It comes in the night. Mollymauk whets his scimitar as quietly as he can while the party sleeps to his right, but one carefully trained eye sweeps in calculated patterns over the empty field of moonlight before them. It is a whole cliff-fall below, so Mollymauk knows they are not going to get there quickly, but he remembers Gustav’s old words and let’s the thought simmer down to a buzz.

 

> “ _It’s about the journey, Molly. Never the destination_.”

 

The blade gleams in what little light dashes across the makeshift base and Molly sheathes it softly, dropping his weapon to the grass underneath his log with a _thud_.

 

In the woods behind the gang, a single branch snaps heavily. Mollymauk’s ears twitch and his tail gives a violent _thwack_ against his seat as he perks up in the direction. A sigh, a grunt, and taking only one of his two blades, stands to go investigate. He wasn’t getting any sleepier; a walk would clear his head. 

 

As the tiefling tip-toed deftly across multiple sleeping bodies, he noticed that during the night Nott had scuttled into Caleb’s bedroll and hadn’t readjusted the sheets to their combined size. With nimble hands, Molly whisked the blanket up across her shoulders where it could encase both the little goblin and her friend, whose dishevelled head rested against the ghostly form of a purring feline.

 

One more check across the rest of the pack, and Mollymauk trekked through the brambles underfoot towards the treeline, leaving behind the softly glowing embers of the camp to be bathed in darkness. It was welcome.

 

He did not know how long he walked. The sound only repeated twice, each in a different direction which muddled his internal compass. To the left, then to the west.

 

When the constellation of the Raven went from portside of the earth to starboard, Molly gave up. Surely his ruckus spooked whatever creature dared wander too close in search of a nighttime snack.

 

His coat flapped in the nonexistent breeze as he twirled around, ready to make haste back. The stars disappeared. With a jarring shock of pain, the world went black.

 

\----

 

A paw swatted his cheek when the birds began singing. Disoriented and aching, Mollymauk hissed when he cracked his neck and shoved himself to his knees, spitting dead leaves from his mouth with a disgusted huff. The events of the night quickly caught up, and he choked on his own tongue, fighting a wave of dizziness to lurch to his feet and take off at a sprint back to camp. The swaying form of little Frumpkin stood forgotten on the mossy ground.

 

Someone was shrieking-- _wailing_ , shutting the birdsong up in one efficient heartbeat. A beat that Mollymauk skipped a dozen or so times as he shoved through thistle and twig to return. The once peaceful and plain scene of their encampment was now red and rugged. Their cart was smashed, the horse was unmoving in the dirt by the cliffside, and Yasha was jerking her shoulders over top of something laying in the clearing.

 

The cause of the weeping became apparent as he approached, still unnoticed. It was Jester, crumpled in the bloody grass and rocking Nott back and forth in her arms, the little goblin shivering in a shock Molly recognized in one lucid attack which jolted his entire body.

 

He couldn’t move, body cold and hot at the same time, the throb in his head overrun by the loud buzzing running up his nerves. He saw Yasha; she was pumping Beau’s chest furiously, cursing in some language her couldn’t comprehend at the moment. Molly trailed Jester’s tear-filled gaze to Fjord, where the half-orc hefted a stained cloth bundle into his arms and towards the now ablaze campfire, surrounded by cracked wooden planks and the likes. 

 

An actual sound escaped his lips when he saw Fjord settle the body into the flames without a care, letting the tongues of orange envelope his arms for the seconds it took to lower the body-- _the body_ \-- onto the growing fire. 

 

Yasha did not look up, but Jester heard, and she pressed Nott’s head further into her shoulder before she could look up. Her eyes held agony, and pity, one of them directed at him and the other for whoever was beginning to char underneath that filthy sheet. Like a rippling wave, Fjord was also alerted when Jester paused in her grief, and he turned around to fix Mollymauk with amber eyes so cold and thin against his contrasting carmine the chill in his bones took hold. Frozen, unable to move.

 

“ _You_.” Fjord rasped. Mollymauk tensed, unwillingly, never before hearing the utter emptiness and silent rage of the warlock’s voice like this. Never directed on him. Never. 

 

_Just soft endearments against his forehead, gentle hands around one of his horns and shaking his head playfully. A chapped mouth against his ear and hands around his waist--_

 

“Where were you, Mollymauk… What happened to be more important than _us_ …” 

 

_Mollymauk. Not Molly, not Molls, not darlin_ ’. 

 

The fire cracked and with it so did his voice. Nothing could come up, no words could form, his mind drew blank. Though his heart yearned, screamed for him to say something to help his case, to apologize, to weep and to grieve along with his friends-- no, _family_.

 

Fjord accepted the silence. Jester’s body swelled with more approaching tears as she sensed the oncoming conflict, but she ducked her chin into Nott’s forehead and curled up tighter, tail tucked tight against their bodies. 

 

“ _Go_ , Mollymauk. Go run away and toss cards for money. Ya obviously don’t care ‘nough to stay here. Go back to yer nomadic _joke-fest. I have a friend to mourn.”_

 

Molly took a step forward, unable to hear his own footsteps or his own heartbeat. The falchion bloomed from Fjord’s palm and Mollymauk halted, stock still and shaking. The pommel was brandished in his direction and Molly’s ears pressed back against his head, frightened; tail hanging like a deadweight behind him.

 

“Flee again, Mollymauk. _You were never one of us_.”

 

The forest accepted his loud steps as he turned tail and did as he was told. He fled, not caring where he ended up or who he ran into. He fled and did not look back.

 

Hours passed. Civilization bloomed on the horizon. Mollymauk drew his scimitar and stared deeply at the face reflected in the steel. Inhaling sharply, he hardened his stare on the road ahead and drew the sword across his neck, and as the blood flowed from the slash, the memories fled, too. Warm hands and warmer eyes and a seasalt mouth. It fades to nothing but another blank slate as the barmaid nearest directed the strange looking tiefling to the local band of oddities and misfits. 

 

Mollymauk noted the flickering tabby cat standing by the flap to the circus tent. It mewed and flicked its tail, held his eye for a moment long enough to warrant a friendly scratch behind the ear. Molly straightened and pushed into the tent.

 

Frumpkin licked his paw once, twice, thrice; and then trotted off into the nothingness to join his master. 

 

 

\---

 


End file.
